So it begins. My Garden Column.
Maybe Row would be a more appropriate name.
Although little of my gardening is done in rows.
It tends to circle the bottoms of spruce trees, or climb over crumbling walls. It spills over hillsides, splits around sandstone, then flows into what's left of the lawn.
And is little-tended.
Our garden rises from cracks in the paving. Sets root in the gutters and downspouts. Birds help us to plant it. And often the rain or the wind.
Much of what we do is not-do--we simply get out of the way.
Take one chemmed lawn. Soak it with snowmelt and rain. Send out a hound dog and sheep dog to mix things up a bit, then voila! A new vein of gold emerges. A luscious crop of golden morel mushrooms in May, after the redbud undresses.
Could I be so free with such information with a crop worth a small fortune?
The sun's fading. Time to respire a bit.
But I promise, stick-scooter, I will be back.
